


Pineapples and Cinnamon and Freshly Cut Grass

by fractionallyfoxtrot



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: In which Martin takes the job at Swiss Airways, M/M, post Yverdon-les-Bains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractionallyfoxtrot/pseuds/fractionallyfoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of everything new--new job, new city, new country, new pilots, new flat--all it takes is one rogue shirt to remind Martin of Arthur, and Fitton.</p>
<p>And home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pineapples and Cinnamon and Freshly Cut Grass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iyori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iyori/gifts).



> Written as a companion piece to [iyori's](http://iyori.tumblr.com) [drawing of Martin in Arthur's shirt](http://iyori.tumblr.com/post/43558331243). I highly recommend you check it out and then come back and read the fic.

Early morning sun washed across the scarcely furnished bedroom.

The bed, on the floor due to the late arrival of the box spring, sat flush against the longer wall near the center of the room. It was neatly made with a box labeled ‘Bedding’ sitting open next to it. An alarm clock, a lamp, and a trail of boxes that grew into stacks of three or four high wound their way from the bed to the closet in the adjacent wall. The closet was empty minus a few low shelves, a pair of shoes, and three shirts hung on the rod.

Martin padded into the room dressed only in his pajama bottoms, hugging a cup of coffee in his hands. He looked out the window as he took his first sips, still growing accustomed to the view from his new flat. He let out a little sigh and set his cup down near the bed, well out of harm's way, and turned his attention to the boxes stacked nearest the closet.

Martin opened the first box labeled ‘Shirts’ and pulled out one of his white, long-sleeved work shirts. He gave it a light shake, slipped it over a hanger, and hung it next to the other shirts in the closet. He reached down into the box for another, giving it a shake and hanging it in the closet. He pulled out a third, then a fourth, and a fifth, repeating the process with each one and hanging them neatly beside the others.

It wasn’t very often that Martin got to organize a new flat from scratch. He planned to take his time and put things exactly where he wanted them.

The last two shirts came out of the box in a tangle, disrupting Martin's unpacking rhythm. He frowned slightly as he shook them free of one another. One of the shirts stayed in his hands, the other fell to the floor. Martin grumbled to himself, hastily hanging the shirt in his hands before stooping to pick up the one on the floor.

He froze as his hand closed around the sleeve of Arthur’s shirt.

Martin knew it was Arthur’s the moment his fingers grazed the fabric. Arthur’s clothes were always softer to the touch than his, being made from better fabrics and not being worn till they were threadbare. He picked it up, running his thumb over the cuff--unbuttoned as always--and grasping the garment in both hands. It was one of Arthur’s steward shirts, bright and red like the strawberries he loved but couldn’t eat or the flush of his cheeks when he’d been out in the snow for too long.

Martin brought the shirt to his face and closed his eyes, breathing in deep a smell he’d long ago associated with home.

It smelled like pineapples.

And cinnamon.

And freshly cut grass.

It smelled like Arthur.

Martin smiled as thoughts of Arthur flooded his mind. An unapologetic enthusiasm for life that Martin envied and adored. An effervescent cheeriness that never failed to pull him out of a bad mood. Kisses that simultaneously brought on laughter and longing and a touch that confirmed that it was Arthur’s best sense by leaps and bounds.

Hugs that enveloped him so wholly that Martin doubted he could ever feel more loved.

Feeling suddenly alone, Martin threw the shirt over his shoulders, letting its longer length drape down his sides. He lifted the collar in one hand and nuzzled against it, seeking comfort in another breath of Arthur’s scent. His hand slid down onto his shoulder, a poor imitation of the reassurance he sought, while he absently turned the end of a sleeve in the other.

A hand over his on his shoulder pulled Martin’s gaze away from his upturned hand.

“Skip?”

Martin pushed himself to his feet and answered Arthur’s hesitant question with a kiss.

He draped his arms over Arthur’s shoulders, the shirt slipping down his back as he pulled the other man into his space. Hands found Martin’s waist as he slid his fingers into the hair on Arthur’s nape, drawing him close, keeping him near, banishing the sense of loneliness with Arthur’s reassuring warmth. Martin grinned as their lips parted, his tongue seeking the unique taste that went hand in hand with the heartwarming smell that was inherently Arthur.

Arthur pulled back to look at Martin, concern dimming the usual brightness of his smile.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“Everything,” Martin assured him, leaning in for another kiss, “is just fine.”

Arthur’s smile grew as Martin’s did. “Brilliant.”

Martin’s hands ran down Arthur’s back as he noticed the new clothes Arthur was wearing. A crisp, pressed white long-sleeved shirt--with the cuffs buttoned--under a black pinstripe vest, all on top of new trousers. Martin couldn’t resist the urge to straighten Arthur’s grey and red tie before stepping back to get a better look at him.

“What’s all this?” he asked.

“My new Swiss Airways uniform!” Arthur proclaimed. He threw out his arms and kicked out one of his heels, proudly displaying his official, and not at all homemade, uniform. “What do you think, Skip?”

Martin chuckled as he reached out and drew Arthur back to him.

“I think it’s brilliant,” he smiled, touching a hand to Arthur’s face.

He wrapped his arms around Arthur and Arthur did the rest, bringing Martin in as close as he possibly could, fully encompassing him in his embrace. Martin settled and relaxed into the undeniable warmth of love and tucked his head into the crook of Arthur’s neck.

It smelled like pineapples.


End file.
